


Breathe me

by troiing



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Episode Tag, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9823973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troiing/pseuds/troiing
Summary: Bernie does come by later.  But first, she texts.An episode tag for Four Letter Word, and probably a preemptive fix-it because lord knows canon will continue to run Serena through the grinder.  Bernie cares so much she's gonna have an aneurysm.  Technically fulfills Matilda's hand-holding prompt.Doesn't actually mention why Serena's in such a bad state, so feel free to read it as good ol' fashioned angst from the #ElinorLives camp.





	

**Author's Note:**

> CW for basically what you're seeing in the show. Alcohol and reference to alcohol abuse, terrible coping mechanisms, etc.
> 
> To be honest with you, I thought this was gonna be a lot shorter and it's been frankly exhausting to write. It's only posted here because ao3 has a significantly better platform for reading 3500 words than my blogs. If there are any bizarre typos (thanks, phone), feel free to either point them out or ignore them.

Bernie does come by later. But first, she texts.

_Everything ok?_

Serena doesn't respond quite immediately. When she does, it's brief.

_Yes._

It takes a great deal of strength to send the next message. Bernie knows what it feels like to want to bolt. Hell, she's been running since she learned to walk. But she still wants to respect Serena's space.

_Outside now. Can I come in?_

Ten seconds pass. Twenty. A full minute. The ticker on the screen shows Serena typing, then it doesn't. Finally:

_Door's open._

It's a moot point, since Bernie has her own key, but she doesn't mention this. She just comes in quietly, places her keys on the nearby table and sheds her coat. “Should I lock it?” she calls as she hangs the coat on an empty hook.

“Please.” Serena's voice is barely audible from the kitchen.

Bernie does so, then follows the sound of Serena's voice through to the kitchen.

She's not long home, must have taken her time. Bernie had given her plenty of it based on Serena's own assertion of how long the walk took, but maybe she should have given her more. It's cold out, but the hair at the nape of her neck is pressed flat and her face is still a little red from the wind. She has an almost full glass of wine in hand, a freshly opened bottle on the counter. The corkscrew is still bedded firmly in the cork, abandoned on the countertop. When Bernie comes closer, she can see that her hands are shaking a little.

“Hello.” Serena looks at her for only a moment, and then doesn't quite meet her eyes again while Bernie crosses the room.

“Hi,” Bernie says softly, closing the distance between them and watching as Serena takes a swallow of the wine. “Serena, maybe…?”

“Hm?”

Bernie watches her. Her shaking hands, the way she can't quite meet Bernie's eyes again. The way she smoothes her fingers absently across the foot of the glass when she puts it down on the counter.

“Maybe… maybe we should leave off the wine tonight?”

Serena pauses, still as a startled doe, then exhales through her nose and gives Bernie a vague smile without actually looking at her. “Just the one glass tonight. Promise.”

Bernie watches her for a moment. Deflates. She hates it, but she nods. “Okay,” she murmurs. Uses _that tone,_ the one she employs only when she's going along with something because she loves someone and doesn't want to frighten them off.

Serena's eyes flicker over to her again and she smiles weakly, then passes the bottle over. Bernie takes it, watches her face for a moment, and then turns to the drawer with all the random kitchen odds and ends. Serena doesn't often use the wine stoppers anymore; any bottle she might not have finished, Bernie is typically around to help see it emptied. But the stoppers are there, and she takes the first one she finds. Plugs up the bottle and pushes it to the back of the counter while Serena takes another slow sip.

Now she's watching Bernie, tracking her movements without breaking eye contact. Bernie watches her in return, very much aware of the pregnant silence between them.

That feeling of wanting to run? It niggles at the back of her mind, combating the concern, the obsession with the way Serena's hands are still trembling a little. And then, suddenly, as if Serena senses this, as if in their mutual instinct to flee she suddenly _understands,_ Serena reaches out and tangles her fingers with Bernie's.

“Um… thank you,” she murmurs, giving Bernie's fingers a squeeze. “For coming. For being here for me. For, ah…” Serena trails off, lowers her glass unsteadily to the counter. “Maybe you're right about the wine.”

Bernie merely squeezes Serena's hand back, the only gesture of comfort she knows how to give. In response, Serena suddenly leans into her, burying her face in Bernie's loose, messy curls.

“Thank you,” she repeats, and her whole body is shaking a little now.

“You're welcome.” They're quiet for a long moment. Bernie lifts her free hand, touches Serena's arm, her shoulder, her neck. It's awkward, this hug that isn't a hug, but she makes the most of it, making her touch firm and sure. Finally, she splays her fingers across Serena's scapula and they stand there, still and quiet, for a few moments longer.

It's Serena's who breaks the silence. Her mouth is drawn and her lips quiver in a valiant effort at maintaining her composure when she suggests: “Why don't, um. Why don't you go say hello to Jason. He's in his room. He's been missing you. I'll… I'll be right up.”

Bernie does as she's asked, because she can't think of anything else to do and because she's been missing Jason too. He'd seemed like a handful at first, overwhelmed the Bernie who didn't quite have the emotional energy to cope with all that unfiltered energy and personality. She's learning not to blame herself for that, learning that she was in a bad place with Marcus and the kids and that of course her emotions couldn't quite be trusted. She'd do anything for him now, she thinks; he's as much family as Serena, as Cameron and Charlotte.

She knocks quietly at his door, opens it when she hears him call for her to come in. He's propped up in bed with a magazine splayed open in front of him when he realizes it's Bernie at the door.

“Dr. Bernie!” he enthuses, and Bernie feels herself smiling brightly in spite of everything. “I'm glad you're here.”

“Me too,” Bernie says, moving into the room when Jason pats the bed beside him. She perches the edge of it, reaching over to pat his hand fondly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Auntie Serena has told me to continue resting. It still hurts some, but not too much.”

“That's good. And she's right. You should take your time healing. Your injuries were very serious.”

“I know.”

After a moment, Bernie pats Jason's hand again. “I know Auntie Serena’s been taking very good care of you, but do you mind if I see the wound?” 

Jason merely shrugs. “Okay. Where is Auntie Serena?” he asks as he lifts his shirt for Bernie to see.

“Downstairs,” Bernie replies simply, admiring the clean incision scar. “That really is healing nicely, Jason.”

“You’re a very good surgeon.”

Bernie smiles warmly. “Thank you. You're a very good patient. I'm glad you're feeling better.”

“Me too. But I wish Auntie Serena felt better too.”

At the sudden somber expression, Bernie smiles again, as warm as she can muster. “Unfortunately, some things take even longer to heal than injuries like yours, even if you can't see them.” Jason casts his gaze off behind her, distracted, and Bernie lays a hand over his in an effort to gain his attention again. When he meets her eyes, she gives his hand a squeeze. “Your Auntie cares about you very much. You know that, don't you?”

“I do. She cares about you very much too. Don't you, Auntie Serena?”

Bernie twists around at that, finds Serena smiling tightly from the doorway. She looks so small standing there, light from the hall reflecting in her hair, Bernie wants to run to her and wrap her in her arms again.

Serena must see this, because as if on cue her smile warms a little, eyes glittering with affection. “I do,” she says, so quietly her voice barely carries into the room. She moves forward then, placing her hand almost absently on Bernie's shoulder as she leans in to kiss Jason on the forehead. “I love both of you so much,” she murmurs into Jason's hair.

Bernie takes up her free hand, squeezes it gently, and Serena squeezes fiercely back.

It's Jason who breaks the momentary silence. “Is Bernie going to stay the night tonight?” he asks, ever practical.

Serena turns to Bernie, and Bernie thinks she's looking for an answer. So she puts all the hope she can muster into her eyes, buffs Serena's knuckles with her thumb. Serena's grip on her hand shifts and her eyes alight with something Bernie can't quite pin down. Gratitude maybe, or relief, or both. Either way, Serena turns back to Jason and says very simply: “Yes.”

“Well, I'm going to bed early, so try not to make too much noise, please,” he says, bluntly as you please.

Bernie bites down on her lower lip, feels Serena bounce her hand. “Of course not, Jason. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight.”

Serena never lets go off Bernie's hand as she leads her out of Jason's room and down the hall, and Bernie marvels at the change. It's as if Serena is channeling weeks of distance into one gesture, all that desire to be close again culminating into the endless tangling of their fingers. She shuts the bedroom door behind them, and when her eyes meet Bernie's, they are full of something like wonder.

“Oh, what did I do to deserve you?” she asks after a moment. Bernie doesn't get a chance to answer, barely gets the chance to think about one, because Serena's mouth crashes into hers, and the kiss is so sweet and so good she loses herself in it for who knows how long. Serena is trembling again, her free hand in Bernie's hair, but her kisses are sure, departing from Bernie's lips from time to time to land on her face instead. First her chin, then her forehead, her cheeks. One stray kiss to her ear, another her jaw.

Bernie doesn't know what to do other than draw her in, palm sliding from her waist around to her back. Before she realizes what's happening, Serena has shrugged out of her blouse, leaving a bright blue puddle of fabric on the floor, and has detangled her fingers from Bernie's to tug at the buttons on her own shirt.

“Serena,” she mumbles, withdrawing a little, uncertain.

“Touch me.” A simple enough command, and Bernie wants very much to comply, but…

“Serena,” she repeats, a little strangled.

Serena backs off a little at that, suddenly looking very uncertain. Bernie feels terrible, catches Serena's hand up again when Serena begins to withdraw it. She watches Bernie's face for a moment, swallows hard, and then moves closer again. Bernie settles her free hand gently on Serena's hip when she does. As if in response, Serena tilts her chin up into another kiss.

“Touch me,” she repeats, almost a whisper. “Touch me, kiss me if you want me, hold me, undress me, touch me, just… god, I've missed you, please just… Just touch me, Bernie, I… I need you. _Please._ ”

How can she say no?

“You're you,” Bernie growls suddenly, fingers carding through Serena's hair before she presses a trail of kisses from Serena's cheekbone down to her jaw.

“What?”

“What you did to deserve me,” Bernie murmurs. In no time, she has Serena's vest off. “You are so good, Serena Campbell. You are so, so good.” She says it like a mantra, needs Serena to know, to remember, that she is and deserves all good things. “You are so good. Do you know how wonderful you are?” she asks between kisses, deftly unclasping Serena's bra. “I'm just the lucky girl who got caught in your sights.”

“No. No, Bernie, you are… so strong, and wonderful, and you've been holding me up so long, and I've been so ungrateful…”

If she was planning to say more, Bernie cuts her off with a kiss. Serena’s body surges into hers, and Bernie groans at the feel of her. Her hands land on Serena's sides before she comes to her senses enough to bring one up to cup Serena's face and pull back a little.

“Serena, is this what you want?” she asks, a little breathless.

Although it's Serena who made the suggestion, she appears to earnestly think about it for a moment before answering. Good. “Yes,” she finally says, wetting her lips as her fingers go back to Bernie's partially buttoned blouse. “Do… do you? Want this?”

Bernie tilts her forehead against Serena's. Takes a step forward, guiding them toward the bed. “ _Yes_.”

And she dissolves into it, the want, the force of Serena's slow kisses, the way her fingers fumble with the buttons of Bernie's shirt. She guides her into the bed and Serena sprawls beneath her, and they lay there for a long time kissing languorously, Serena's earlier desperation apparently diffused by confidence in their mutual desire. And it's good, it's so _good._

Eventually Serena guides Bernie's shirt down her shoulders, and Bernie shrugs out of it awkwardly, trailing kisses down Serena's neck, to her chest, and further as she undoes Serena's trousers. She has to stop at the foot of bed to remove Serena's trainers and socks, does so slowly, watching the movement of Serena's body. When Serena is naked beneath her, Bernie finds herself kissing a slow trail up her calves to her thighs. Soon, however, Serena pulls wordlessly on her arm. Bernie follows her lead, settling over her again.   
Their kisses are endless, welcome, wonderful. Bernie slides an arm beneath Serena's neck, rolls them more comfortably to their sides with Serena's knee propped up on her own hip. She keeps it slow, gentle, swallows Serena's quiet moans as her fingertips trail softly through her thick curls, down the length of her labia majora. She doesn't count time or breaths, but her fingers are beginning to tingle when Serena tilts her hips into Bernie's hand.

“Bernie,” she mumbles; this and her movement are all Bernie needs to understand the message: _more_. 

So Bernie shifts, easing Serena onto her back again even as her fingers tease past Serena's slit and into warm wet. She groans, slips a finger inside, two fingers, kisses Serena's neck and rocks her weight back to move down Serena's body again.

“No. Bernie…” The words stop her, then Serena's hands are guiding her upwards again, nails scratching at the material of her sports bra. “Stay. Stay with me,” Serena pleads, fingers finding purchase against Bernie’s arm and holding on tight.

“Okay,” Bernie says, fierce and quiet, fingers still bedded inside of her when she awkwardly adjusts her weight, slipping just her forearm beneath Serena's neck and kissing her again. “Okay. I'm here. I'm here, Serena. Always.”

“Always?” Serena echoes, folding her arm up to tangle her fingers with Bernie's.

“Always. Always, whatever you need. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here.”

Serena leans one knee against Bernie's hip, splays the other out to the side, and Bernie is hoarse from the endless string of promises, the arm she's resting on quite numb by the time Serena rocks her hips upward, suddenly demanding more. The relaxed path of her fingers, first inside Serena, then teasing her clit, then inside of her again, stops in favor of this newfound urgency. She lowers her lips to Serena's neck, her breast, staying as close as possible, sweaty fingers twining all the more tightly with Serena's. Using her own hips for leverage, Bernie follows Serena's lead.

Serena arches violently below her, spasming around Bernie's fingers, and after the initial wave of the orgasm passes her over, she sobs. Not once, but several times. Bernie draws back to look at her, and realizes with a surge of guilt that Serena is crying.

This is all her fault.

But Serena does not let go of her hand.

“Serena?” she asks cautiously, moving her hand to Serena's hip, then her ribs.

The tears flow all the harder at the sound of her voice. “Bernie,” Serena gasps through the tears. “Bernie, how… I've been so horrible… How can you? Oh, god.”

In that moment, two things occur to Bernie: first, that it is not her fault after all; second, that she likes this Serena even less than the Serena she'd discovered at work today, albeit for very different reasons.

At least this Serena is in her arms.

“It's okay, Serena,” she says, because she can't think of anything else to say. She rolls them to their sides again, carefully keeping Serena's hand clasped in hers. “I'm here. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.”

This only causes Serena to sob again, breath hot on Bernie's shoulder. “Why, Bernie? I've been a monster, I… All I've done is push you away. Oh, God. Am I a terrible person? I'm a terrible person.”

“No, you are not,” Bernie asserts, digging her fingers into the fleshy part of Serena's side. “You are strong, and kind, and wonderful.”

“I've been a bitch.”

“You have been grieving, Serena.”

“That doesn't excuse - ”

“No, it doesn't,” Bernie cuts her off. “You've been coping very badly, and you've been taking other people down with you. And that's precisely why you need to talk to a professional.”

She pauses, lets the words sink in, and Serena shakes violently against her.

Bernie sighs, moving to completely envelop Serena in her arms. “Serena, I will be the first to admit that you have acted… abhorrently.” She hates herself for having to say any of this - loves Serena enough to speak the truth. “But the Serena Campbell who held me up through my divorce when she barely knew me, who took in the nephew she barely knew… Serena, you are so good. You are so, so good.”

A fresh sob wracks Serena's body at this, and all Bernie can do is hold her as close as possible.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Serena sniffles and asks: “How can you forgive me?”

Bernie can't help but laugh. It's brief, and not exactly mirthful, but she laughs nevertheless. Bringing one hand to Serena's face, Bernie tilts the other woman's chin so their eyes meet. “Serena, how many times have you forgiven me?”

Serena is still for a moment, wide-eyed and silent, and then she too begins to laugh. It's a charming little chuckle marred by a hiccough, and Bernie can't help but press a kiss to her forehead.

“A few,” Serena manages after a span.

“And I hear you're quite gifted at holding a grudge,” Bernie murmurs into her ear.

“It's true,” Serena replies, then falls silent. Bernie simply holds her through it, breathing her in. It's almost unbelievable that Serena is finally in her arms again, that she's reaching out for the support Bernie been aching to give… “I love you.”

Bernie shivers at the profession, nuzzling her way into Serena's hair. “Me too,” she whispers. “So much. So, so much.” And then, pressing a kiss to Serena's jaw, she pulls back a little. “Let's get cleaned up,” she suggests in an undertone.

Serena nods.

Bernie fiddles with the shower control while Serena uses the toilet. When she's satisfied with the water temperature, she takes Serena's hand and pushes the curtain back.

“You're not coming?”

“I… Well, I can.”

“Please,” Serena almost whispers, stepping forward to work the slightly sweat-damp bra over Bernie's head.

Bernie removes her jeans and knickers quickly, toeing her socks off at the same time (she doesn't quite remember kicking her shoes off earlier, but she must have), and follows Serena into the shower.

It's the same slow affair as everything else. Bernie works the shampoo into Serena's hair, then the conditioner. Scrubs her back clean, then backtracks and does the rest of her body too, stopping to kiss top of her thigh before she stands. Serena returns the favor, massaging soap into the taut muscles of Bernie's back while Bernie lathers Serena's shampoo into her own hair.

Once they're both scrubbed clean and rinsed, Bernie turns to Serena to check in. “Okay?”

Serena nods, but steps forward, backs herself up against the tile side of the tub and guides Bernie in close.

Bernie anchors a heel against the sidewall, presses her body against Serena's. Serena works the fingers of one hand into Bernie's again, and when her free hand lands on Bernie's back, Bernie props an elbow against the wall and leans her forehead on the tile just beside Serena's head.

“Thank you,” Serena murmurs, barely loud enough to be heard over the running water.

Bernie doesn't respond, merely closes her fingers a little more tightly around Serena's.

They stay like that, fingers tangled, bodies flush, until the water starts to run cool against them.


End file.
